


the damndest thing

by theredhoodie



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-14 00:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhoodie/pseuds/theredhoodie
Summary: After the not-pocalypse, Crowley buys Aziraphale a plant.





	the damndest thing

**Author's Note:**

> so i just…had to write something for these two. i mean how could i not? just a little psa, i’ve never read the book, nor do i know the layout of london. just read this for the cute fluff okay? okay.
> 
> previously posted on [tumblr](https://mastertano.tumblr.com/post/185876129345/the-damndest-thing).

The tiny, handwritten “Closed” sign was turned out to the bustling street but he walked in anyway with a snap of fingers, sliding the lock over.

“Oh, we’re closed!” Aziraphale called from far in the bowels of the building.

“I know!” Crowley replied, eyeing the less-dusty-than-usual books, sniffing the air for the new copies placed there by Adam unknowingly. They were deceptive little things, fitting in almost perfectly, but he could tell the difference. 

He also knew that Aziraphale had been re-cataloguing the whole shop since the aversion of the end of the world.

Keeping his gift lifted in the air, he ducked under a low hanging shelf and slipped into the cozy back room where the angel in question was busy jotting down the last of the titles in front of him, a single smudge of ink on his hand.

“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale said, not taking his eyes off the paper until he was finished. Once done, he blew on the sheet of paper and held it up like it was the Holy Grail–which, honestly, was not as majestic as everyone made it out to be–and smiled, setting it aside.

“Hello, Angel,” Crowley replied, garnering the attention of the room.

Aziraphale’s smile fell just slightly, his eyes falling on the pot in Crowley’s hand. “Well, what’s that?”

“Yours.” Crowley held the plant out. Waited. Coaxed Aziraphale’s hand out and placed the small terracotta pot in his palm.

“Mine?” He looked perplexed, bright blue eyes roaming over the fresh budding leaves.

“It’s a plant,” the demon explained even further.

“Yes. I see that.”

Crowley nodded, fingers sliding into his pants’ pockets, shoulders hunching as he pointed with his elbows. “You have a lot of words here, but not a lot of life. Figured you could use a plant. They keep good company.”

“Do they?” Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by the plant, running a finger across the soft leaves before he frowned and looked up. “Do _you_ have plants? At your um…your flat?”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, s’pose I do.”

“Oh.” The angel set aside the plant at the top of the desk, in the thin sliver of light coming through the window, and then stood, smoothing down his vest. “And they are…good company for you?”

“No,” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “They get lazy and get spots or brown leaves and then I have to uh…” He trailed off at the expectant, naive look on Aziraphale’s face. “Spray them with water.”

“Ah. I see.” The angel blinked and rolled back onto his heels ever so slightly and grabbed the front of his jacket before dropping his hands and fiddling with a string hanging from the otherwise immaculate jacket. “Thank you for the gift.”

Crowley begrudgingly accepted the thanks and pursed his lips before twisting around and moseying his way through the shelves and stacks. “You’ll water it won’t you?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale followed him a few paces behind.

“And don’t ever be afraid to put a little fear in it. Don’t let him walk all over you.”

“I wasn’t aware that plants could walk. Was that Adam’s doing?”

Crowley bit back a laugh but allowed himself to smile and shake his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh yes. Of course.” Aziraphale stopped by a stack of books and moved them all a few millimeters back from the edge of the cabinet top. “I will…I will water the plant and keep it in line,” he affirmed with a little wave of his finger in the air.

“Good,” Crowley said softly. A few seconds were nothing, stretching out between the immortal beings, the air warm and a little musty thanks to the books. Eventually, Crowley edged toward the door. “Well…”

“Since I just finished,” Aziraphale said, stepping forward, “we could…we could go to the park. If you’re not busy doing whatever it is you…do. The park or to that new restaurant around the way. Or…or well, anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” He raised his eyebrows and Aziraphale shifted on his feet before falling still. _Anywhere_ was vague and broad and not at all the specific sort of thing that Aziraphale typically said or suggested. Crowley blinked slowly behind his sunglasses. “You…are the damndest thing.”

“Me? No, I can’t possibly…” He got a faraway look in his eyes, thinking…well, Crowley could only guess, perhaps his time pretending to be him in Hell? Or almost killing a boy to save the world? And then, with a tight shrug, he glanced upward. “Well, I suppose…”

“Don’t I owe you a picnic?” Crowley asked, a smile creeping onto his face, unbidden but he didn’t tamp it down.

Aziraphale tugged down his jacket and strode forward. “Yes, I believe you do.” Before even having to ask, he did a small little miracle right there in the shop and a picnic basket appeared. There were a number of benefits from knowing someone for so long, including the angel knowing that if Crowley made a picnic basket it would be 100% alcohol.

Crowley nodded in approval. “To the park then?”

Aziraphale nodded and locked the door to the shop behind them. The Bentley was parked horribly on the street and Crowley headed toward it but the tiniest tug on his pinkie finger stopped him. He blinked and turned slowly and Aziraphale snatched his hand back, eyes wide like one of those little owl babies.

“Shall we…should we walk?” Aziraphale asked, clutching the basket like it was a liferaft.

“You want to walk around London?”

“Yes,” he replied, straightening up and squaring off his shoulders. “It’s not very far.”

Crowley took a deep breath, glanced around as if annoyed but rather he was tamping down his own anticipation and then he nodded. “All right then.”

They began walking, sauntering and shuffling along and soon Aziraphale relaxed a little. Soon, his hand swung at his side gently while he talked about some of the strange new additions to his bookshop.

Eventually, after about the thirteenth bump against Crowley’s own hand, the demon sighed and stopped. “For G–for Sata–for…somebody’s sake!”

“Pete?” Aziraphale offered.

“Sure, sure, for Pete’s sake, Angel, just–” He held out his hand, fingers long and slim, palm up, “hold my hand properly or grab onto your basket with both hands.”

Aziraphale sputtered a nonsensical response. Something along the lines of that not being what he was doing followed by an apology for bumping Crowley’s hand, before trailing off.

Crowley began walking again after getting no sort of answer he wanted, and Aziraphale trailed behind. They eventually got to the park and Aziraphale’s face brightened.

“There, just by the lake, below that tree. Come along!” He started off first, his cheer infectious even though Crowley wanted to keep brooding for at least another forty-six seconds.

The basket came with a blanket, red and white checkered like in films, and Aziraphale shook it out with one good wrist flick and it floated perfectly to the grass.

“There better be wine in there,” Crowley said, sitting down in the shade.

Aziraphale opened the other side of the basket and pulled out a bottle. “Of course.”

Five minutes later, Crowley was sipping wine from a tall glass and Aziraphale was crunching down on flaky crackers and some sort of fancy cheese.

“This is nice,” the angel said after a while, dabbing at his mouth with a neatly folded napkin.

Crowley agreed into the bottom of his glass and set it down on the blanket. Not only was the ground soft with grass, but they were on a slight hill and it fell over, spilling the tiniest drop onto the fabric. Without thinking, he brushed it away into the universe, knowing it was Aziraphale’s blanket and it was meant to be spotless.

“Thank you for the plant, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, setting his plate aside.

Crowley leaned back on his hands, watching the ducks float along the pond. “You said that already.”

“I did, didn’t I?” The angel cleared his throat. “Thank you for the picnic, then.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow and turned just enough to see Aziraphale out of the very corner of his vision. “All this thanking is making my skin get all crawly. Do you have something to say? You can just tell me.”

Aziraphale sucked in a number of breaths, trying to start his thoughts off but failing. But they had time–the world was no longer ending, after all–so Crowley waited.

“I wanted to apologize,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward a little. “For earlier.”

“Earlier when…” Crowley trailed off as the angel put his hand on top of Crowley’s on the blanket. “Oh.”

Aziraphale smiled, tinged with nerves. “Yes well…”

Crowley scooted back on the blanket an inch or two and pushed his glasses up with his free hand before quietly maneuvering his other hand over until their palms met. “This isn’t too fast for you?” His voice came out softer than he’d intended but Aziraphale heard him just fine.

“Perhaps the end of the world put some things into perspective, wouldn’t you say?”

Perspective sure. They were both…well, they were their own side, as he’d said plenty of times. Welcomed neither in Heaven or in Hell any longer. No longer having that option was enough to twist around one’s perspective, certainly.

“You truly are the damndest thing,” Crowley replied as Aziraphale laced their fingers together.


End file.
